


Dance On The Blacktop

by devovitsuasartes



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, One Shot, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 13:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16306217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovitsuasartes/pseuds/devovitsuasartes
Summary: Ian really should have listened to that advice about prison.





	Dance On The Blacktop

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless gave Ian and Mickey a happy ending so naturally I had to write something miserable haha.

Going to the west shower block was stupid, and Ian couldn't even say that he hadn't been warned. He'd been graphically and explicitly warned, before he went in, about the dangers of the west side in general. But he'd had a long day of hauling timber for 11 cents an hour as part of the construction crew for the prison's new offices, and he ached deep down in his bones, and the west shower block was closer.

In his defense, this was his first week. He hadn't had much time to get smart yet.

Ian had just about rinsed the last of the sawdust from his hair when he heard the heavy tread and slap of feet on the wet floor behind him. Not just one pair of feet, but several. He felt them like a shadow at his back and his muscles tensed involuntarily. He waited, until it was clear that whoever was there wasn't there to shower, and then sighed and shut off the water.

His hand still on the knob, leaning against it a little, he said quietly but clearly, "Turn around and walk away."

There was silence, then a soft chorus of dark chuckles behind him. They didn't say anything in reply. They weren't here to intimidate him. They were here for something else.

Ian turned around, not bothering to try and cover himself. There were three of them - two big, one kind of small. They were still fully clothed, and relaxed, like they knew he wasn't going anywhere. Lazy smiles and mean eyes.

"Look," Ian said, refraining from clenching his fists. "If you rape me, my boyfriend's going to find out about it. I won't tell him, but he'll figure it out. And then he'll kill you, and he'll take his time with it, and I _really_ don't want that because he just managed to get his time knocked down. Multiple murder charges would seriously fuck up our plans."

His heart was pounding frantically, but the panic hadn't reached his brain. The generic lithium they had him on had numbed him to fear. He wandered out of the shower area to where he'd left his towel and they moved aside to let him pass - though still keeping formation around him.

Ian had the towel pressed to his face, soaking up the droplets of water and siphoning the rivulets running down from his dyed black hair, when one of them threw an arm around his neck. He slammed his elbow back instinctively and heard a satisfying guttural rush of air as he knocked the wind out of one of them. But that was just one, and there were three, and another was suddenly punching him in the stomach - fast, quick jabs. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

To Ian's surprise, they let him go then. Let him go and left the shower room rapidly, feet slapping against the floor again as Ian doubled over and wheezed for breath. His stomach was wet where he'd been punched, and he instinctively reached for his dropped towel to dry it, but his knees buckled and he fell down on them hard, still holding his stomach. Then he though, _oh right, duh_ , because his hands were red and blood was pooling at his knees. He hadn't been punched at all.

Putting his jumpsuit back on was a pain in the ass, but he didn't want to walk out of there buck naked, so he tugged it over his feet - jerkily and painfully, hissing through his teeth. He shrugged his arms through the sleeves and figured that was good enough, and then pressed the towel to his ravaged side and limped out of the shower room.

His vision was swimming by the time he made it out of there, but he could just about make out the uniform of one of the COs, who turned to look at him as he leaned against a wall, smearing it with crimson.

"Hey, uh..." Ian's voice was cracked and shaking. "I'm new here, where do I go if I've been stabbed?"

 

* * *

 

 

The infirmary was the answer, it turned out, because _duh_. Ian was vaguely surprised by how OK it was - not so different from a regular hospital ward, and he'd been in a few. He stared up at the ceiling tiles while the doctor stitched him up, remarking that he was lucky it had only been a two-inch blade and it hadn't reached anything important. Ian took a look once it was all stitched up. The blade must have been a little curved, because the stab wounds looked like a collection of little smiles - all clustered around the left side of his stomach.

Once he was done, the doctor asked him if he wanted to stay in overnight, but Ian declined. Then a bored-looking CO came by with a form to take a statement, clearly not expecting much. In a monotone, Ian told him that it had happened in a rush and he hadn't seen any faces. He wasn't about to become a snitch in his first week.

He had to walk back through the west block to get to his cell, feeling eyes on him as he took steady, stiff steps, looking straight ahead. He passed by the man who had stabbed him, and the man glanced at him as he passed, sizing him up. Ian met his eyes, and the man smiled - not maliciously. Perhaps it was just the blood loss, but Ian could have sworn he caught a hint of respect in the look.

Ian figured it had been about four hours since he was stabbed. He'd missed dinner, but he wasn't really hungry. The inmates were heading back to their cells and Ian filtered in with them, his head aching and his stomach stinging.

"Fuck have you been?" was Mickey's sharp greeting, when Ian got back to their cell. Mickey was sitting on his bunk, forearms resting on his knees, looking antsy and annoyed. "Thought we were meeting after work detail?" His sharp, assessing eyes caught the stiffness of Ian's movement as he moved towards the bunk, and when Ian had to hold onto the upper bunk and slowly ease himself down, a hiss of breath through his teeth as he tried not to rip out his stitches, Mickey's expression turned vulnerable and panicked.

"Tell me you just pulled a fucking muscle," he demanded in a shaking voice.

Ian was feeling loopy. He dragged his gaze over Mickey's face - drinking in the sight of him. He thought about telling Mickey that he'd thought he'd never see him again, that thought he'd said goodbye for the last time at the border, that everything, everything had been for Mickey. The Gay Jesus act, blowing up the van, sticking up for those kids, the kids with the shitty parents who tried to change them - all of it had been for Mickey. He'd done it for them because he _couldn't_ do it for Mickey, couldn't help Mickey, dazed and bleeding from his head on that couch, being ridden by a Russian hooker. Couldn't save Mickey from his monster of a father, couldn't go back in time to when Mickey had first realized he was gay and tell him, it's OK, it's OK, it's OK...

"It's OK," Ian said huskily, slowly pulling apart the front of his jumpsuit, taking Mickey's hand, and gently resting it on the thick bandage on his stomach. "Just, uh, lost my virginity."

It was one of Mickey's jokes, one of those nights after he'd broken out of prison, when they were on the road. Ian had found the pale cross-hatch of scars on his back and Mickey had grinned and said, "Popped my cherry inside. Got dicked by Señor Shiv. You jealous, Gallagher?"

Mickey wasn't laughing now, though. He said "fuck" in a voice that was shaking with anger and guilt. "Fuck, Ian, who the fuck..."

"Doesn't matter. Don't need you going after them."

"I'm gonna fucking _skin_ them. Did they... Jesus fuck, tell me they didn't..."

"No." Ian smiled weakly. "I think maybe they were gonna, but all the blood was a boner killer."

"You're a fucking maniac, Gallagher," Mickey muttered disbelievingly.

Ian leaned against him heavily, and Mickey took the hint and lowered him down to the bed, saying, "Easy, easy," when Ian hissed and moaned at the pain of flexing his stomach muscles. He wound up prone on his back, breathing deep against the hurt, Mickey pressed against his side on a bunk that wasn't big enough for two people.

They lay there quietly for a while. The light was turned off in their cell, and the lights outside, leaving only dim strip lighting for the COs to find their way. Ian knew with a deep certainty that Mickey was lying there plotting ways to kill the guy who'd stabbed him, which meant that Ian would have to settle him down.

But that could wait for tomorrow.

 


End file.
